The five stages of grief isn't felt on a timed schedule. It isn't a simple road you take. It isn't a a straight line, point A to point B. It's a maze of sadness, hopelessness, anger, and all the in between and beyond.
Grief comes in waves. It can come all at once. Anything can be felt when you're filled with grief. Right now, Langa couldn't feel anything.
He lied in his bed, his dull eyes seeming as if they were glued to the ceiling. In reality, he was lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.
I could have said goodbye to him one last time.
I would have gone snowboarding with him if I knew he wouldn't come home.
I shouldn't have told him to go away.
Langa didn't even feel the tears pool at his waterline. He didn't feel them roll from the corners of his eyes and down his pale skin. He didn't know how long he was like a broken faucet. That's what happens when you're numb.
"Pa," he heard himself croak. The only indicator he had that he was, in fact, not okay right now.
Langa wouldn't call himself a cryer. No, he wasn't the type of boy who thought crying was 'weak;' he was just too busy to cry.
I miss him. I miss him. I miss him. I miss him so much.
He threw an arm over his eyes, trying to convince the figurines on the shelves across from him that he wasn't crying. 'Don't look at me,' he thought. 'This will be over in a moment.'
Langa has been dealing with his father's death for three years now. When Oliver did pass, everyone would tell him that it'll get better.
"They all lied. It doesn't get better," he muttered, followed by a sniffle.
At poor timing, he heard a knock on his bedroom door. Langa somewhat comes to his senses, wiping his face hastily with his sweatshirt sleeve. "Who?"
"Langa? Hey man, your mom told me to come over and get you since you weren't answering my texts. Everything alright?"
It was Reki.
Shit. He forgot that he made skating plans with him today. He didn't even know today was Saturday.
"Um, yeah one sec," Langa called back, hoping his voice didn't sound too fucked. He really didn't want to do this right now.
Reki, however, had a gut feeling that something was somewhat off. "Can I come in?"
The taller boy was in the middle of opening the blinds, trying to lighten the dark room. "Um," he paused, trying to pic up the pieces of his scattered mind. "Yes?" It came out as a question.
Slowly, the door creaked open and popped in a head of red hair. it was pulled back today. Summer made Reki grow his hair out more. Langa would be lying if he said he didn't like it.
"Hey, are you okay?" The shorter questioned. He was never the best at comforting.
Langa remained silent and nodded, looking for his shoes. His body presented itself as collected and cool, but his face was a dead giveaway as his eyes were caressed with pink and puffiness.
Reki scrutinized the room. He was about to speak with edge before he realized that he should be more gentle with his friend. "Langa, you can talk to me, you know that, right? Whatever is troubling you, I can listen if you need to talk," he offered, sitting on the boy's bed.
Langa had his back turned to the other, his head hanging. He didn't want Reki to see him differently, knowing that Langa did have feelings after all.
"I'm okay," he tried to speak confidently, but it came out as a mere whisper. Reki's eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Langa," he stood up, going behind the taller. "It's okay to not be okay. I know you're hurting. Your mom told me what was going on before I came up here."
Langa heard himself sniffle, hoping Reki didn't catch it. Unfortunately for him, he did.
The Canadian felt a pair of arms latch around his waist, squeezing him like a python of assurance. "I'm here for you, amigo. El esta orgulloso de ti," Reki whispered, resting his forehead on the other's shoulder.
Another sniffle could be heard. "You know I don't know what you're saying when you speak Spanish," Langa chuckled, wiping his eyes. He set an arm on Reki's.
Reki let himself grin from the words. Then solemn fell into play. "I'm sayin he's proud of you. You're his son, dead or alive."
Sometimes we need to hear the words come from someone else's mouth. Someone who doesn't understand what you're going through. Hearing his best friend say this about his dad was like a breath of fresh air, whether it be refreshing of suffocating. Langa soon speaks what's on his mind.
"I-I just wish," he heaved weakly, holding back a dam of sentiments. Reki remained silent. "he could see me! That he could tell me that, that I do make him proud. That he could meet you and Cherry and Joe and Miya and, and-"
Reki already had tissues in his hand ready for Langa, slowly sitting him down at his desk chair. It was a beautifully, depressing sight. It was like visiting the Niagara, but melancholy was in your heart as you watched the water fall.
As Langa sobbed and cried out, Reki kneels in front of the taller, his hands resting on the boy's thighs. He rubbed circles on the paler's hipbones, letting him cry it out. "I know, Langa, I know. I know it hurts."
"Why me Reki? Why did I have to lose my dad? He wasn't a bad guy! He, he was loving and a good man and he loved life more than anyone else. It isn't fair!" Langa has a new profound anger in his veins, frustration taking over his brain. "It doesn't make sense.."
"I know they say time makes things better—but they're wrong. Time just makes it easier to deal with," Reki tried to give him a comforting smile, to tell him that he was here for him.
Langa looked down and knew his eyes were red at this point. His ears with dusted with red from the fury, but Reki seemed to always put him at ease, even now. He nodded and wiped his eyes with the tissues he was given. Then set one of his hands on Reki's. He kept it on his thigh.
"Thank you for being here for me. I'll have to talk to Mom later though. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it sooner," his lips curled into a slight smile, finding joy in drawing shapes on Reki's rough hand.
"There's no need to apologize, Langa. Now, wanna skate?"
"Yeah.. let's go skate."
